Trojans
by protected-silverspoon
Summary: What could you call me anyway? A medium? A clairvoyant? A schizophrenic, most people would say. I thought the point of moving to Los Angeles was to get away from the voices inside of my head, not to become infatuated with one. Maybe they're right. Maybe I am just crazy Claire.
1. Chapter 1

The second I even glanced at the house, I felt it. The malice, the heartbreak, the fear, the happiness, and most of all, the darkness. It was like there were twenty lost souls clinging to me, and the familiar weight on my shoulders already weighed me down from the distance. I felt the presence of the oldest members to the youngest, all of them shouting and crowding my head. Sighing with heaviness, I rolled my eyes and continued reading. I thought the point of coming here was to get _away_ from the voices inside of my head.

"Home, sweet home!" Aunt Cynthia's voice rang out in fake delight as we pulled into the driveway. The large SOLD sign swung loudly despite the light breeze. George snorted beside me at the exclamation and I smirked at his cheekiness, causing Cyn to glare at us in disapproval.

I shoved George and nodded towards the heaping pile of luggage scattered throughout the van. He scoffed at my laziness, but didn't protest further as he began unloading. With Cyn talking and talking as she usually did, and George listening to her as he usually did, they didn't notice as I strayed away to wander the yard.

Without even stepping into the house, I felt the presences nearby. From under the gazebo, from behind the door of the basement, from everywhere. I began humming loudly trying to drown out the voices that kept piling and piling in my head, continuing to search the premises. I could tell that nothing _too_ malicious lingered here (well, not malicious anymore), but plenty of sorrow and heartbreak.

Just like me, right? I laughed bitterly at my own joke.

It wasn't too long before the scenes came. The closer I stepped towards the backyard, the more I felt pressure on my shoulders. The first one I saw was a woman lying on the porch leading into the backyard with her face smashed in by the shovel dropped beside her. I furrowed my eyebrows in confusion and looked at the gazebo.

"Hello," a deep voice greeted behind me.

I turned swiftly. Blonde hair. Blue eyes. Sadistic smile. I narrowed my eyes in suspicion. His grin became even wider.

"Hi?" I asked, struggling to be polite. I never was good with people my age. "And you are...?"

"Michael," he said. I could tell he knew about me and I kept myself guarded, knowing that there was something about him that screamed at me to run. He continued when I didn't respond. "I just wanted to greet our new neighbors."

I felt a shiver at the same moment he glanced quickly toward the window, almost in anticipation. I nodded slowly, giving an awkward smile. "Well. Hi."

He would be cute, you know. If it wasn't for the fact that I felt the evil radiating off him.

"Michael!"

I swiveled around quickly. An elderly woman appeared, rushing towards us. She gave me a chilling glare and pushed past me to talk to her grandson, I assumed.

"Hi, mom."

Or maybe not. It's not like she was seventy years too old to have a kid.

"You know you're never supposed to go into the neighbor's house, sweetie!" she laughed uncomfortably toward me and glanced at the window nervously. I exchanged a glance with Michael, who still had a grin plastered on his face.

"Well, just wishing our new neighbors luck," he said laughing and the woman reprimanded him sharply. She shared a forced grin with me in awkwardness before turning away and speaking to Michael alone.

"Claire!" I heard from the house.

I turned for a split second at my name, but when I turned back, the two were already more than halfway toward their house. Michael was still giving me the same grin from earlier and gave a wink before I turned away. I shivered in unease. George ran out from inside and pulled me into the house excitedly. I could feel the protests of our presence from the previous and unfortunate tenants of this house. "Look at this place, it's amazing!"

Rolling my eyes and murmuring absentmindedly, the stairs creaked with anticipation of our arrival. The house wanted us but it's tenants surely did not. George kept babbling on and on about how amazing the architecture was and how antique the stained glass windows were while I wanted nothing more than to explore the history of this house. As I was staring at the chandelier fixture beside the stairs, an instant flash of a hanged man swung before it disappeared.

I smirked. Call me sadistic, but I already knew that I was definitely gonna like it here.


	2. Chapter 2

I sighed heavily. Today had been a long day; from enrolling into Westfield to suffering from migraines (which, to be honest, I used as an excuse out of class), to trying to suppress the voices that crowded my head. It was especially infuriating hearing the same requests made by different voices over and over at every second of the day. All I wanted to do was trudge up the stairs and crawl into bed.

But, of course, simplicity was too much to ask for.

"Hi?" I hadn't meant for the questioning tone, but I couldn't help the slight inclination of my voice. I tried hard not to let someone else's flashback push into my mind about the history of the room and focus on the random stranger caught rifling through my drawers. He spun around quickly and stared at me for a long while. There were a few moments of awkward silence before he realized that I was talking to him.

"Oh, me?" he asked confusedly. I rolled my eyes and kept myself from a sarcastic retort. He was taller than me, tousled blonde hair in contrast to my pitch black mess, piercing dark eyes opposite my dull blue. He reminded me a lot of the boy next door, because they both had a handsome face that seemed innocent but their eyes screamed _guilty_.

I nodded slowly and uncomfortably before clearing my throat.

"Do you usually come into people's rooms unexpectedly or...?"

He shrugged and gave a sheepish grin. "Sorry. I'm Tate."

"Claire," I replied, still aware of the elephant in the room, "Nice to meet you, I s'pose."

His lips curved into a half-smile, amused by my sarcasm. "Yeah, I guess."

Despite my better judgement and understanding of the common saying '_Looks can be deceiving',_ I decided that at the moment, sleep was more important than questioning Tate, the cute boy that welcomed himself to my room and looked through my things. All I was thankful for was that I wasn't present when he looked through my underwear drawer.

I managed to catch myself before I collapsed on the floor with fatigue and sat on the bed, Tate following suit. I didn't even have enough energy to push him off or question why he was so _weird_. He wasn't even uncomfortable with the fact I caught him pillaging my things.

After concluding that he couldn't possibly be much of a threat to me, and if he tried to pull a move, I could have him sprawled on the floor in five seconds flat, I made idle side conversation with him, mainly getting to know each other. I learned that we were both seventeen, he apparently dropped out of Westfield, and that he lived next door, although he seemed awfully uncomfortable when I commented on how he and Michael looked similar. He learned that I had recently moved from San Francisco, which, besides the climate change, wasn't much different from Los Angeles and that, every year, I devoted myself into learning a new hobby.

He snorted when he learned that this year was knitting and made a snide comment about knitting and old age. He was promptly pushed onto the floor.

"So..." I drawled tiredly after a few hours, eyes drooping and not up to conversation anymore, but also not knowing how to politely ask him to get the hell out.

"So..." he repeated, adding a cheeky grin, obviously not even close to tired. I rolled my eyes, deciding that he wouldn't take the hint. I maneuvered around him to get comfortable, and accidentally brushed my hand against his.

Big. Mistake.

My body convulsed and my eyes rolled into my head, immediately thrown into a hallucination.

Images of his mother, morbidly alcoholic, and her neglect toward him and his siblings. His previous residency at the house and the darkness that consumed him, leading to many deaths, including his mother's boyfriend, many of the house's previous tenants, and even actions that led to his own death. The pain he felt being all alone, regretting his decisions, mourning the loss of a loved one. Every single tiny detail that he encountered in his life and even his after life flashed before my eyes as if it were my own.

I sat up gasping for air at the end of the flashback, seeing him hovering over me with a concerned look. Putting my head in-between my legs, I tried to regain my composure as I felt the weight on my shoulders dig in deeper. I pieced the memories together and understood why he was so surprised that I even saw him earlier.

He was dead.

**A/N: Hi guys! Sorry for such a short chapter, but I needed a way to introduce Tate and to sort of give more insight on what Claire can do. I don't really like making author's notes, but I just really needed to let you guys know that I'm so thankful for your guys's support. Without you, I would have no motivation to write this haha. Special shout outs to SheBangBang and bex-the-awkward-panda-gurl for their wonderful comments! Love you guys!**

**Stay happy and see you guys next week :D  
**


	3. Chapter 3

Tate walked down to the basement in mute despair. A _medium_? He couldn't put it together. He spent the whole night talking to her and when he 'accidentally' touched her, she cringed away from him for the rest of the night.

"So, you're dead," she had said. He didn't know how to respond and he was sure the expression of confusion on his face was less than flattering. She waved off her capabilities off as nothing more than _just a medium._

"You said you were a knitter!" he accused.

And she replied, cheekily of course, "And you said you were alive, so I guess we're both disappointed, right?"

Then she told him to leave and so he went away to his corner of the basement, where he was met with many disapproving looks from everybody to Ben Harmon to Moira O'Hara. He was rejected _again_ and he had just met her. He felt the anger boiling up in him, the darkness consuming him, and the growing resentment toward the house. In his small corner of the basement, he yelled and cried and shouted but no one could hear.

* * *

It had been two weeks and still there was no sign of Tate. Then again, I was the one that told him to go away in the first place. But this house was getting lonelier and lonelier and the silence more unbearable with each passing day. I found myself unconsciously wandering the house, not realizing I was even looking for anyone in particular until I caught sight of someone unexpectedly and they run off. So far, I had seen a weeping blonde woman, a presumably gay couple arguing, and a quiet nurse sitting and studying a book in the corner before they all fled and disappeared.

I couldn't help but laugh at the sheer irony. The ghosts were the ones afraid of the human. Even Moira was uneasy around me. More and more often did I see young Moira, and more of her true self. Most likely because the lack of a male presence in the house. George was constantly out of the house, obviously. He was a normal child who had school and friends and anything social. Me, on the other hand...

Of course, I couldn't blame George. He deserves all the good things he gets, especially because he has to deal with me enough at school. People couldn't keep their mouths shut ever since I walked into school that first day and passed out.

I sighed in disappointment. My "episodes" had been coming more frequently, much to Cyn's concern. She was considering taking me out of school again, to which I adamantly protested. Without school, there was no way I would get out of the house and she might as well just put me in an asylum already.

One day, I came home from school and found a teenage girl rifling through my albums, just like Tate when I first met him. She gave me a look of absolute resentment, and I just rolled my eyes. She seemed familiar, from one of the many visions I've had of this house, but I couldn't remember which. All I knew for sure was that she was dead and that she killed herself.

"In case you forgot," I sneered as she began walking out, "This is my room now."

And with that, I slammed the door in her face before falling on the ground with another episode. When I finally snapped out of it, I woke up in bed with a bundle of wildflowers beside me. I smiled a little at this.

Feeling his presence, I called out to him. And for the first time in weeks, I had a friend again.

I couldn't put a finger on it, but there was something about Tate that pulled me to him, regardless of what I knew of his past. He was a psychopathic murdering rapist with as much charisma as the Devil himself, and all I wanted to do was give him a hug.

"Tired?"

I groaned in reply. I felt the weight shift on the other side of the bed and turned to face him.

"So, are you still mad at me?" he pouted. I inwardly rolled my eyes at how easily I wanted to squeeze him into a hug.

"No," I sighed, "But it's not up to me to forgive you."

"What am I supposed to do, Claire?" he asked in frustration, "Apologize to every single soul in this house? 'Hey, sorry for stabbing a poker into your ass and suffocating your boyfriend with apples! Hope we can be friends!' or 'Sorry I raped your wife and fathered the Anti Christ, but at least your daughter killed herself and I didn't kill her, even though I drove her to it.'"

I winced in disapproval of his bluntness, which caught his attention. He gave me an apologetic look and scooted closer toward me. "Look, it isn't that easy Claire. We've been stuck in this house for decades. If the time for forgiveness came, it would have already happened."

"Maybe," I began, "Maybe they just... They need to see change. Don't kill anyone, or rape anyone, or make someone go insane, and they'll think, 'Hmm, maybe Tate's a good kid after all.'"

"Well, maybe I'm just not a good kid," he muttered. I gave him a withering look to which he shrugged.

"Everyone has good and bad, Tate. You're just a good guy who made some bad decisions."

He stared at me for a long while, trying to decipher the meaning in my words. "You know," he finally said, "You're the first person I've ever talked to in the history of this house that I haven't had to lie to."

I shoved him playfully and rolled my eyes, trying to hide the blush in my cheeks. _Oh Claire_, I thought to myself as we carried on our conversation, _what are you getting yourself into?_

**A/N: I'M SO SORRY GUYS. I KNOW IT'S BEEN SO LONG! To be honest, school has just been kicking my ass lately. But! Never fear, summer is coming and that means more free time to write. Hopefully, you guys aren't too mad and stick around with me and this wonderful adventure. Thanks for your support and patience!**

**Stay happy and see you guys soon! :D**


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